Ordinary Times

When I was a little girl attending Catholic school, reading the lives of the saints was required reading. I actually enjoyed frequently leafing through those colorful little picture books and learning about these remarkable people. I was awestruck by their courage, their fierce loyalty to God, and their willingness to die for their faith. We all know about Joan of Arc and being burned at the stake. I remember asking myself at a young age if I would die for Christ. I can’t remember what my interior answer was but I’m sure the good nuns who taught me would have encouraged a “yes”.

The Catholic Church is fond of the saints, as they should be. We celebrate their lives during our liturgical year, remembering all they did during their lifetime to draw others to God. I like to think of them as our older brothers and sisters who have gone before us and are cheering us on and praying for us to live holy lives.

All this is an introduction to something profound that my husband said recently. He is a wise man, but since he’s my husband I take it for granted a lot of times. But one day I had to write down his words and meditate on them. We were getting ready to pray together and I asked him if it was a feast day of a saint. He responded saying that it was “Ordinary Time”, meaning there is not a special feast or celebration. Then he said, “We are made saints in ordinary time.” That statement caused me to stop dead in my tracks.

All my life I have admired the saints of old; the ones who were martyred, the ones who founded hospitals and religious orders, the ones who preached the Gospel in foreign lands, and who cared for the poor and dying. But what John said made me think about the saints of today, the ones who will never be officially recognized by the Church and canonized. It made me think about all of us who live ordinary lives in ordinary times.

Most of us will never become missionaries or be asked to give up all we have for the sake of Christ. Many of us are simply wives, mothers, husbands, fathers, teachers, nurses, salesman, or whatever other daily duties we have. Is there a minute possibility of sainthood in those places? Actually, it really isn’t where we work or what our education is that matters. What counts is what we do with what we have been given. What counts is how we treat our family members, our neighbors, our co-workers, how we speak to others, how we give of ourselves without calling attention to it and without complaint. I believe sainthood lies in all of that.

So how is it possible to do that, be that, live that kind of sacrificial life? It’s only possible through a relationship with the One who gave us the example of holy and selfless living, Christ Himself. He is the One who strengthens us, encourages us, gives us the graces we need to follow His way.

The saints of old are pretty amazing. But the saints of today have many of the same challenges that they faced. We may not have to shed blood but we have an opportunity during each ordinary day to make a difference in the lives of all around us.

Humility

Many years ago, I came across a prayer for humility. It was actually a litany. As I read it, I stopped almost immediately and had to make sure God knew that I was just reading it and not praying it. It was a heart stopper for me, something that I didn’t feel I could say from the heart. “Who could ever pray this prayer?” I thought to myself. Why would anyone desire to be despised, suspected, forgotten, or humiliated? Why would anyone ask that others be more loved, chosen, praised or preferred? Why would someone pray to go unnoticed, or set aside? Those are terrible things. Or are they?

A few weeks ago, I came upon this prayer once again. I decided to READ it. (notice, not pray it) I almost had to laugh, because all those things that I had feared in the past have happened to me so many times I couldn’t even count them. And I’m still here. I didn’t faint away or die from it. I didn’t run away and become a recluse because of being wronged or ridiculed. Of course, there was a lot of pain associated with making many mistakes, being humiliated in front of a lot of people, and not getting credit for something I worked hard to complete. I have been forgotten and looked over many times. There were even times I truly felt like I was invisible.

Over the years, these experiences have strengthened me. I don’t know if it’s an increase in the virtue, but I am becoming more detached from myself. It’s a rather odd feeling but I’ve learned to not take myself so seriously, to be able to move on past my mistakes and not to dwell on them or mull over every detail of my errors. That is so freeing!

The fear of praying this litany has greatly diminished and the repugnance of it has changed to something almost sweet. I still wince at parts of it but I know that God is working in my life to mold me into the person He wants me to be. He’s chipping away at my pride and that’s a very good thing. For those of you who are my friends, you know, as I do, that I have a long way to go. And my family and spiritual brothers and sisters have played a most important part in my spiritual journey. For they were the ones who encouraged me, listened to me, and counseled me whenever the virtue of humility was being tested. I am grateful for their willingness to love me and be patient with me as I continue to be pruned.

In case you have a burning desire to see the litany that I have been writing about, I have included it. Try praying it. (ok, you can read it first.) I promise good fruit will come from it.


(accustomed to be said after celebration of Mass,
by Merry Cardinal del Val, secretary of state to
Pope Saint Pius X)


O Jesus, meek and humble of heart,
Hear me.
From the desire of being esteemed,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the desire of being loved,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the desire of being extolled,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the desire of being honored,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the desire of being praised,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the desire of being preferred to others,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the desire of being consulted,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the desire of being approved,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of being humiliated,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of being despised,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of suffering rebukes,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of being calumniated,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of being forgotten,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of being ridiculed,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of being wronged,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
From the fear of being suspected,
Deliver me, O Jesus.
That others may be loved more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be esteemed more than I,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That, in the opinion of the world,
others may increase and I may decrease,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be chosen and I set aside,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be praised and I go unnoticed,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may be preferred to me in everything,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.
That others may become holier than I,
provided that I may become as holy as I should,
Jesus, grant me the grace to desire it.